The Purple House
by TheGirlWhoBelievedInStars
Summary: It has been five and a half years since May 2, 1998. Today - October 17 - is Lavender Brown's birthday. Or at least, it would be had Lavender survived the battle. Seamus just can't seem to accept that yet.


_ "Want to go to the dance with me?"_

_ Seamus was always straightforward, especially to those he knows well. He suspects that he doesn't know Lavender well, really – they never do talk. But he pays attention. And sometimes, during lessons, he'll say something witty, and she'll have some sort of funny follow-up, and she'll turn and smile at him and he'll grin. That's their love – smiles and laughter directed towards teachers but given to each other._

_ Seamus was always romantic. He supposes it isn't very masculine, but he can pretend that they're in love without seeming too prissy. Of course, at fourteen, he can't honestly know what love is, but his imagination is a different matter._

_ Now, though, as he talks to Lavender, he all of a sudden can't say something sweet and romantic and is instead blunt. He fears her "no," but Parvati, who's sped up a bit as to not become an intruder in their special moment, is looking back with raised eyebrows and a smile that's almost bursting with her suppressed giggling._

_ "I'd love to."_

_ Seamus grins._

_ Lavender grins back._

_ Out of the blue, a whitish line creeps across her face. And another, and a third and a fourth, and a fifth on her neck, and the scars begin to darken to a deep scarlet, and the moment is frozen – all time but Seamus's own clock has stopped – nobody's moving but him, pressing his hands against her face, trying to stop the scars from opening, but it isn't working. Blood is streaming down her face, but she is frozen in the moment, like everyone else, and she's still smiling that innocent little smile. And without notice the scene starts back up again, God once more turns the world's wind-up toy, and fifteen-year-old Lavender falls to the floor, drenched in blood._

_ Everyone is moving on. Everyone keeps walking. Parvati wipes away a tear but turns and leaves. It is Seamus, now, who is frozen, unable to move. Him and Lavender, motionless in the midst of a busy corridor. Him and a blood-soaked body._

* * *

The teakettle whistles and Seamus is awake.

"Seamus?" Reanna calls from the kitchen. "Would you like a sausage?"

"Yeah, fine," he mumbles.

There's a short moment's pause. "Seamus?"

"_What?_"

"I asked if you wanted a sausage with your breakfast!"

"And I said yes!"

He can hear her sighing from three rooms away. It's a nice sigh, but it doesn't make him happy like it did once. Reanna… Reanna, he's realized, isn't permanent. He thought she would be, three years ago, but even then she was the consolation prize for those who couldn't have the ones they loved, at least not without a sacrifice Seamus wasn't willing to make. Lavender was dead, and so Seamus, too, was dead, and there was no point in dying again.

Seamus Finnigan, wizard, is gone, too. Seamus Finnigan, Muggle, doesn't want to be reminded of him. He visited his family for a week after the battle, sent owls to Dean and a couple to Michael and Stephen. And then he disappeared.

Five years. It's been five and a half years since May 2, 1998. Today is October 17. Today is Lavender Brown's twenty-fourth birthday. Happy birthday, Lavender Brown. Happy birthday to you.

Seamus stumbles into the breakfast room (which is really just a corner of his kitchen) in his navy blue bathrobe, rubbing the stubble that has rested on his cheeks for a number of days now. Reanna sets a plate down in front of him and he begins to eat whatever's on it. Sausage, probably. Happy birthday, Lavender.

Reanna sits across him, her dark blonde hair done up in a high ponytail that's starting to fall out a bit. Seamus must be up late, since she usually comes over at ten-thirty. He checks his digital watch: 12:09. He must have been up late yesterday night. Happy birthday, Lavender.

"I came over, but you weren't awake," Seamus' girlfriend says, as if he wouldn't have known otherwise.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "Out late last night. With some friends." Friends who died five and a half years ago. Happy birthday, Lavender.

"Well, I'll have to leave soon, then, for work and all. I was hoping to spend some time together this morning, but that wasn't – "

"Shame," Seamus mutters absentmindedly, not really listening.

"Bye, Shay," Reanna says slowly, almost in a questioning tone, waiting for a response. After a moment without one, she leaves with a final "I'll see you" and without a Seamus who is paying attention.

She won't.

See him, that is.

* * *

He's not really eating the sausage, nor the breakfast roll, just playing with it childishly. Happy birthday, Lavender. But that's like every morning, although maybe his spirits aren't this low every day. Happy birthday, Lavender. Seamus's days aren't really very interesting – he supposes it's the Muggle life, but maybe it's the absence of the wizarding life. Happy birthday, Lavender.

An owl soars in through the window.

Seamus doesn't respond to owls anymore, not for over five years. They're just more reminders, and after his friends sent a few owls and never got responses, the birds stopped coming. He never gets owls anymore, so why is one here?

Tentatively, he reaches for the folded parchment, draws his hand back, and puts it out once more, snatching the letter as if it would be a crime to take it. The owl flies off, and Seamus is left with a new piece of parchment and with the wizarding object in his hands, the realization that he'll never escape from the wizarding world, from the memories of losing Lavender, who hadn't even loved him. She'd liked him, maybe, years before, but she had moved on before she was too far in, and Seamus had fallen hard. What a cliché.

After several long moments' hesitation, Seamus tears away the seal and opens the letter.

'You are cordially invited to the twenty-fourth birthday celebration of Lavender Nicola Brown.'

_This can't be real_, Seamus thinks. _Is this a joke? Are they just trying to see me again? I don't want to; most of them are dead. Dean isn't dead. It did hurt to cut myself off from Dean. But everyone else is dead._

Maybe it's like a memorial, he figures. So he decides to attend and books a train to Brighton that day, as the invitation indicates.

_Dammit_. Brighton.

They're holding her memorial birthday where she lived.

* * *

He arrives at Lavender's parents' hotel, the guest houses' bright colors constrasting deeply against the darkening sky, and he's guilty that it still feels the same as it did when he visited the summer after fourth year. Nothing has changed, there is no empty feeling in his chest (or at least nothing more than normal) – it's just the Brown's little collection of homes lining the street, ready to rent out to tourists in Brighton. He knocks on the door of the little yellow house on the end of the street, the one that they made an office eleven years ago. Ten years since he's been here and it doesn't look any different.

Mr. Brown answers his knock, still looking the same as ever with his thick slate-colored glasses and well-kept brown beard, and maybe his hair has more grey than it used to, but what really startles him is his smile. A memorial for his daughter today and his smile is as big as ever. Everyone's moved on.

"Seamus! So good you could make it!" Mr. Brown exclaims, still beaming.

"Yeah," Seamus responds solemnly.

"Everyone's in the Purple House," Lavender's father continues. The Browns painted each house a different color. Fun for the tourists, apparently, to find out what color they would be surrounded by during their stay. The Purple House was always Lavender's favorite, if only because her name was a shade of the color. And now he gets to go back there, to see Lavender's memory haunting the hallways.

Seamus approaches the little bungalow. Steps onto the welcome mat. Rings the doorbell. Waits for the people he hasn't talked to in five and a half years to show up at the door. Hopes against his wishes that they've all been able to come. Chides himself because they haven't. Reproaches himself for thinking they'd all have been able to come when the whole purpose is Lavender's death.

The door opens and Lavender is in front of him.

_Why's he seeing ghosts that don't exist_ –

"Seamus!" she shouts.

He's struck dumb.

"How are you? I haven't seen you in so _long_, Seamus, God! I mean, I know you've been travelling, and I was _going_ to owl, but Dean told me you never responded to those – why the hell not, Seamus? Oh, who cares, I'm sure your travels got in the way. Full recovery, Seamus! Well, almost. I never liked steak before, and I'm a lot fussier than normal at full moon, but I'm the first one to admit it! How _are_ you? Where've you been going lately?"

Seamus still can't talk. His brain can't comprehend the situation: Lavender. Alive. Birthday party an actual celebration. Lavender. Here. In front of him. _Lavender_.

It still doesn't make sense, but it's happening, so he throws his arms around her neck and envelops her in a hug, which he knows isn't very manly, but it's Lavender. Here, alive. Happy birthday, Lavender.

"Glad to know you're opening up," she laughs.

He looks at her and decides that he should be honest instead of letting her believe he's just been vacationing.

"Who told you I was travelling?"

"Dean… Why…?"

"When'd they say you weren't going to die? When were you _conscious_?"

"It was a while. Several months. Early December, late November, maybe."

He takes a deep breath. "Lavender," he begins, "I didn't leave Britain because I was going to be travelling. I've never been further east than London. Lavender, I left Britain because I didn't want to be reminded of everything I'd lost. Namely, you. Because I thought you were _dead_, Lavender. And I didn't want to see Dean or Parvati or Michael or Stephen or anyone who I could look at and think, 'Look, I went to school with them. And Lavender. Lavender's dead.' And I just… I couldn't do it. I couldn't be part of the wizarding world and be thinking of dead you all the time. Not that I haven't thought about you, shit, that's not what I meant… nevermind, Lavender. Happy birthday."

She stares at him a moment. She's still beautiful. Her light brown curls are held back by a light blue headband, like nothing's changed. Nothing has changed with Lavender, like she's been granted eternal youth. Of course, it's only been five years, but –

_Only five years?_ Seamus thinks to himself. Those five years were agony without her, the romantic in him insists. But it's strange, talking to her. It's like the past five years weren't more than a day. Nothing's changed.

They've been grinning at each other for several seconds now, but it's raining and he wants to get inside. "We should talk," he says.

"Of course," she replies, her smile larger than he's ever seen it, and kisses him.

* * *

He talks to Dean, of course, and their friendship goes unchanged – Dean forgives him, as Seamus knew he would. Michael and Stephen are a little reluctant to understand at first, but they open up again. It only crosses his mind once that Reanna will be worrying, but he knew he'd have to break it off eventually, so he stays, catching up with everyone he hasn't seen. He talks to Parvati, who's the same as ever. She got married in July, though, and he would've been invited, she said, but Dean told her he wouldn't respond to an owl. For the first time Seamus regrets living as a Muggle, and he realizes he's missed out on five years of Lavender Brown. At least Lavender's not getting married.

* * *

_**Seamus David Finnigan**_

and

_**Lavender Nicola Brown**_

are pleased to invite you to celebrate their wedding on

**21****st**** June 2005**


End file.
